Voices: Naturalized, and energized to vote

Lautaro Grinspan posing for a selfie at his naturalization ceremony in Oakland, Florida. (Photo courtesy of Lautaro Grinspan)

I had heard Madeleine Albright call it the best day of her life once in a podcast. As I got up at 6:15 on the morning of my own naturalization last week for a ceremony that kicked off at a mystifyingly early 7:30, I wanted see whether what lay ahead would live up to the hype.

It was only my older sister and I who drove out to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services building in Oakland, Florida that morning. Because of conflicting travel plans, our parents aren’t due for a citizenship ceremony till July.

For those who don’t know how naturalization works, the ceremony is the last step in a long-ish process. The grand finale, if you will. Other hurdles along the way include an $680 application fee and a citizenship interview.

Although my family members and I always figured we would try to become Americans at some point, we weren’t particularly keen to apply for citizenship until the onset — and quick descent into lunacy — of the 2016 campaign season.

My sister and I are eager to participate firsthand in this country’s democratic process after following the election as closely as any of our fellow college students. My parents are a tad more succinct: “We have to stop Trump,” they often trumpet.

Ultimately, it was clear to all of us that the election and its potentially daunting implications were too consequential for us to sit on the sidelines. At stake is our vision for a tolerant, inclusive America. At stake are the lives and livelihoods of fellow immigrants, both present and future, who deserve the same opportunities we have received during our time here.

As would-be voters in the swing state of Florida, we felt we’d be able to actually help make a difference.

On the ride over to the ceremony, we listened as baffled NPR radio hosts tried to make sense of the recently concluded Brexit vote. A referendum gone wrong. A victory for politics of hate, barefaced racism and regressive “take our country back” sloganeering. An example of what we were trying to avoid come November.

After arriving at the USCIS building, we sat in a large waiting room with our fellow budding Americans. The blasting air conditioning made the windows fog up against the heat and humidity of the summer day.

As employees checked our paperwork, they announced they would soon collect our green cards. By way of farewell, some gave their cards a quick kiss. I snapped a photo of mine. Those emerald-colored pieces of plastic meant everything, and a bit more.

As we filed into the space where the ceremony would take place — already replete with guests and decked out in American flags — Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” was, in a random turn of events, playing on loudspeakers. My sister and I exchanged a look. “Unwritten” was on heavy rotation when we first moved here eight years ago. We didn’t understand all the lyrics back then, but we certainly did now, for better or worse.

“Full circle,” my sister chuckled.

The ceremony’s MC kicked off proceedings by reeling off some stats. In total, 155 of us would become Americans that morning. We hailed from 40 different countries.

“Today is a special day in the story of your life,” the speaker declared.

A short video about America and its virtues played on a big screen. It started in black and white but dramatically burst into color when the starred and striped banner made its entrée en scène.

As the video played, I took a look at the goodie bag each of us found on our seat when we arrived. Oprah would be hard pressed to do better. Besides a mini American flag, we were given, among other things, a 102-page long Citizen’s Almanac, a pocket-sized Constitution and a message from the President.

Next, the speaker called out each country represented in the audience alphabetically. In turn, nationals of those countries stood up, to a warm round of applause, until the whole crowd was on its feet. It was a touching moment.

My country, Argentina, was first to be called. I stood up along with eight fellow Argentines. We exchanged knowing “look-at-us-now” glances and smiled, rather proudly.

This being Florida, the three largest groups unsurprisingly turned out to be from Jamaica (27 people), Haiti (22) and Cuba (12).

With everyone standing, we were prompted to raise our right hands and recite the Oath of Allegiance. We renounced fidelity to any foreign state. We voiced our support for the Constitution. We expressed our willingness to “bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by law.” A couple of sentences and one so-help-me-God later, we had all officially become new U.S. citizens.

The first to congratulate us was President Obama. In a video message, he addressed us a “fellow citizens” in a land of “opportunity, equality and liberty.” He acknowledged we had traveled a long path to earn a spot in that ceremony and said we were to play a role helping write America’s next chapter. “No dream is impossible,” he concluded.

Following the president’s message, “America the Beautiful” started playing. We were required to wave our mini flags to the music and encouraged to sing along.

Long may they wave. (Photo courtesy of Lautaro Grinspan)

“This is a celebration!” we were reminded.

Soon, certificates of naturalization were being passed out. Photos were taken, hugs were given, tears were shed.

If I had to choose a theme for the surprisingly snappy ceremony, it would be this: anything is possible. As new U.S. citizens, we were told no ambition is too big, no dream too out of reach. Didn’t Czech-born Madeleine Albright make it to Secretary of State?

Still, it’s difficult to experience an important life event like this one and not feel a few nagging reservations. Would becoming legally American eliminate the “foreignness” so key to my identity here in the States? I had always been the kid with the accent and (endearingly?) unpronounceable name. Could those traits coexist with a U.S. passport?

There were also more practical matters to consider. With U.S. citizenship comes a requirement to pay taxes in the U.S. no matter your country of residency. Would opening myself up to double taxation in the event I moved abroad be a smart move?

For my sister and me, gratification as new U.S. citizens wasn’t about practical or existential concerns or about achieving dazzling success years down the road. It was about what happened in the next five minutes.

As soon as we exited the auditorium, we got the chance to fill out and submit our first ever voter registration forms. We will get to vote for president.

Still buzzing from my brand new change of status, I heard from a distance the ceremony’s MC urging people to talk about their naturalization experience on social media. The hashtag du jour: #NewCitizen.